


Act of Mild Folly

by zetsubou69



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Meetings, First Time, M/M, well this escalated quickly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-02 00:12:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17877449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetsubou69/pseuds/zetsubou69
Summary: What if the Folly was not so empty, the baddies weren’t really the baddies, the Nightingale was to allow himself occasional fun, and he and Peter were to meet before the events of RoL? I guess that Thomas would be a gentleman and Peter would be smitten.





	Act of Mild Folly

The bar is dimly lit in blue-ish colours and Peter could swear there is an actual snake vivarium separating the front bar room from the rest of the club - including some constrictor snakes that seem too big to be anywhere outside of a proper zoo. Nevertheless, Peter did not hesitate to step inside. Well, not much.

When Matt, his high school mate cornered him a few weeks ago with the words ‘reunion’ ‘meet-up’ ‘everyone’ and ‘you must come too’, Peter was annoyed at first. After walking the streets for queen only knows how many hours a day his training program had left him drained to death. However, the idea of drinks and actual social interaction won over playing Halo on his Xbox for once, so here he is, Friday night, dressed in his nice pair of tight-fitting jeans and dark blue button up, chatting and drinking with people he used to hang out five-ish years ago.

They all met in a pub, had a pint and soon they were splitting up into smaller groups with more specific plans for their evenings. Peter was originally thinking about joining some girls and going to a different pub when his mate Matt stopped him and asked about his plans.

“Me and few of us are going to this really nice queer-friendly bar. Do you want to join us?” Matt explained. Just for the record, Peter should mention that Matt used to be called Mary until he was about 15 and started his FTM transition. And ever since he was able to afford his drinking habits, he decided to support queer-friendly establishments only. Something about mutual respect that Peter could understand.

“I was planning to go with Eve and Ann over there, but now’s your chance to convince me otherwise,” Peter grinned. He did not really care for the final destination, as long as there were drinks and he could catch a cab home eventually.

“Mate, they’re already married to some blokes, but the bar I’m talking about has plenty of pretty ladies and handsome dudes who are single and you might even score tonight. And don’t give me that look, it’s so easy to see you staring at dudes’ arses that everyone and their grandma already know you swing both ways,” Matt teased.

Peter let out an annoyed groan but concurred. And that’s how he found himself, entering the kind of establishment he usually avoids, especially nowadays that he is with the police.

It is neither crowded nor overly empty inside, so Matt guides Peter, a petite white woman called Trisha, and a mouthy black gal called Melanie (fortunately for Peter, not a distant family member) past the snakes, further around the second bar, a stage, and dance floor, to secluded areas downstairs. There they sit at one of the low tables surrounded by cosy couches in the back. Each table is separated from the others by long heavy curtains, giving more than an illusion of privacy and also muting most of the unwelcome noises, so they can chat all they want.

Peter notices, that the patrons in this bar are a varied bunch. A group of businessmen still in their work suits, a gaggle of young girls in bit-too-short dresses, bunch of local lads, some goth kids, two so-queer-and-colourful-I-cause-Epilepsia gays, these are just a portion of visitors, yet they are mingling with each other, seemingly friendly. What a curious oasis of tolerance, or perhaps, indifference.

“Hold the fort, we’ll go and grab the first round,” Matt and Melanie offer to bring them drinks, so Trish and Peter get to discuss video games, they don’t have the time to play anymore. The evening continues in a very entertaining manner for Peter, with everyone talking about this and that until Trisha comes back not only with next rounds, but also with a man in tow. It is a handsome forty-ish-year-old white guy in a bespoke suit and handmade shoes, which must have cost way more than what Peter makes in a month, and what Peter judges under the artificial light to be grey eyes. He radiates power and Peter momentarily wants to be a cat, so he could stretch and bask in it like in sunlight.

“Good evening,” the man greets them.

Right away he’s cut off by excited Trish: “This is Thomas. Thomas here has lost a bet with me so if you want anything, Thomas is paying for it tonight.”

“Within reasons, please. I’m afraid I do not have the resources to purchase everything you might wish for on me tonight,” he says in a perfect RP accent a BBC announcer would be proud of and chuckles softly at his joke, most certain of his wealth and ability to spend a dime on young attractive people.

“Well, in that case, I would love to taste that top-shelf gin over there and Peter here could do with one more glass too!” Matt laughs loudly and Trish shakes her head.

“That’s Matt. Don’t take him too seriously. The handsome one is Peter. And hands off Mels, she’s my date for tonight,” Trish rattles off. More informal greetings are exchanged and everyone’s orders are delivered.

“Drink freely with no fear of obligations,” Thomas, who looks like a movie star form old movies sans cigarette, raises his cocktail glass and everyone laughs at his odd manner. He ends up sitting next to Peter squeezed close on the small couch, sipping his colourful drink shamelessly while Peter enthusiastically talks about the architectural highlights people can find in London.

Matt and girls go dancing repeatedly - a thing Peter resists and avoids as best he can - so Thomas spends over an hour just listening attentively to Peter’s talking, sometimes adding his own tidbits of obscure knowledge. Then the girls are back sans Matt and time flies while everyone’s having fun (Melanie is a brilliant storyteller with gossip knowledge that by far outshines 4chan, and Peter occasionally wishes he’d gone to university just to have as many racy stories). They start talking about cars, among other topics, and Peter learns that Thomas owns a Jaguar Mark II and gets a metaphorical boner for that car. Metaphorical being the important word here. Eventually, Trish and Mels end up cuddling and yawning and call it a night.

“I’ve met a friend here, I’ll be leaving with him, don’t look for me, I’ll be staying the night at Zack’s,” he informs them and asks them to call the cops or Peter if he’s not on Facebook tomorrow and that’s how the silence settles in at the table, only the noise from the dancefloor echoing through the room as the bar is emptying.

They’re left alone sitting next to each other with half-finished colourful cocktails standing on the table in front of them. Peter and Thomas share a look, first at their glasses, then at each other.

Then, even though not entirely unexpected or unwelcome, there’s a warm heavy hand on Peter’s knee.

“You’re a very attractive man, Peter,” Thomas says slowly, careful around each word, while his grey eyes seek Peter’s.

“Oh,” Peter stutters, unsure how to reply to Thomas’ confession and that incredibly hopeful look the man is giving him. Fortunately, Thomas senses Peters discomfort and continues.

“I know I am past my prime compared to you, but I would be immensely pleased if you were willing to keep me company for a little longer,” Thomas says and tries to hold Peter’s gaze.

Peter cocks his head to the side, studying Thomas’s handsome face and classical features, while his words are stuck somewhere in his throat. The hopeful expression hardens and disappears after a few seconds of silence.

“I apologise for imposing.”

Then the hand is moving away and Peter thinks he must have stayed silent for too long. He doesn’t even think about it and snatches it and places it back onto his knee.

“What are you looking for?”

Peter sees Thomas's gaze drop down from his eyes to his lip and then somewhere lower.

“Anything you’re willing to give or take. Nothing that you’re not interested in having,” Thomas replies softly, squeezing Peter’s knee to assure him of his intentions.

“Alright,” Peter nods and Thomas visibly relaxes.

“Can I get you anything else, while we talk some more?”

Peter shakes his head and points at his own half-full glass.

“I’m fine. I’d like to get to know you better. What do you actually do? You did not say so...”

Thomas shrugs his shoulders.

“I do whatever needs doing for a certain London-based society with more money and influence than people at the risk of being centenarians should have. If you’re imagining men close to ninety who now spend their time sipping tea and worrying about walking upstairs to the other library being too taxing... well, you’re not far from the truth,” he delivers with a poker face and then joins Peter’s cheerful laughter.

“Incredible. Well, as long as it pays well enough to be able to afford a Jaguar, I guess it’s a valid career,” Peter eventually says after catching his breath.

Thomas nods and grins bit wider when Peter, whose eyebrows furrow momentarily in thought, squeezes his hand.

“Look, I’ve...” he coughs to clear his throat then shakes his head. Thomas just keeps looking at Peter patiently, one hand trapped under Peter’s on his thigh, the other resting on his own knee. “I think I’m finished drinking tonight. Is there any place where we could continue our talk?”

“Of course. I’ve had only one glass this evening. Would you agree to me driving us?”

Peter nods and the leave their unfinished glasses and gather their things and Peter gets introduced to this beauty of a car. The Jaguar is so old school and beautiful and Peter calls this night a success no matter what happens from now on, because how often do you get to speed around London in 1962 sports car?

Especially since the guy driving you is obviously showing off.

Peter has to admit, that this display of hubris is working on him.

 

*

 

They drive past a row of beautiful Georgian terraces when Thomas takes a sharp turn into a small one-way street and finally parks in a coach house next to a bright red Ferrari.

The moment Peter gets out of the car and sees it his brain-to-mouth filter fails.

“Can we make out against that car?”

Thomas joins him in the narrow space between the cars.

“I’m afraid Martin would let such behaviour pass,” he shakes his head. “He might lend me his keys temporarily. Not tonight, I’m afraid.”

Then he reaches out with his arm.

“There’s a very comfortable couch upstairs if you’re willing to leave the cars...” he offers and gets closer, just enough so Peter can smell his cologne clearly now, a scent of pines, winter and spices.

“Sure. I just hope this wasn’t a ruse to get a slightly ethnic not-exactly-straight guy into a room with a bunch of old white guys,” he teases.

Thomas turns to him that moment, hesitant shock on his face.

“I promise, that no such thing shall happen to you under this roof. No one shall coerce you into anything and you are free to leave any moment you don’t want to be in my company anymore,” he says solemnly and Peter realizes his inopportune choice of words as he watches the other man’s expression.

So he does the most natural thing and leans in for a kiss to soothe Thomas’ worries. As they start kissing languidly he wonders whatever had happened to make Thomas believe that he’s anything but an incredibly desirable and gentlemanly.

Thomas unfreezes and leads them upstairs to what seems to be refurbished servant’s apartment, complete with en-suite bathroom, tiny kitchenette, three armchairs and huge couch around a low table, and even bigger flatscreen fixed to the wall. The door clicks shut. Peter tosses his jacket onto one of the armchairs and pulls Thomas into his arms.

“I want to snog you senseless,” he breathes against Thomas’ lips and hushes the eager consent the other man tries to give him with his lips and tongue. Kissing a man is no different to kissing a woman - the same motion, the same intimacy, the same joy - or so Peter finds. Maybe, just the feeling of someone else’s facial hair scratching his skin stirs up some new emotions - mostly incredibly arousing ones.

Thomas removes his jacket and drops it next to Peter’s. Then they spend few minutes making out lazily, almost like shy teenagers, while standing up in the middle of a dimly-lit room, their hands wandering, Thomas’s hands moving hesitantly and Peter’s very curiously.

Then Thomas squeezes Peter’s arse and Peter bucks his hips, his clothed erection colliding with the other man’s tented crotch. They laugh and Peter retaliates by slipping his hand into Thomas’ hair to hold him, so he can kiss him harder.

There is a rule that you do not touch a black girl’s hair unless you want to die a very painful way; it was something Peter’s learned as a child watching women of his family straighten their hair with chemicals and do other unspeakable things to it. No such rule obviously applies to posh white queer guys so now warmth spread in his palm and in his chest as his hand slips up the back of Thomas’ neck and he runs his fingers through the formerly meticulously brushed hair, enjoying the way Thomas gasps at every tug of his fingers.

They are just tiny gasps, that escaped Thomas’s lips, and they make Peter feel powerful. He usually attracted very dominant and bossy women and having a man going pliant at his hands gives him a pleasant adrenaline rush.

Peter bends his fingers so he can scratch the soft skin beneath on Thomas’ nape and then he watches with surprise how Thomas groans and blushes bright red, the way unlucky white people do when embarrassed.

Just to be certain of his hypothesis, Peter repeats that a few more times, mesmerized by the magnificent reactions he gets. Thomas’ eyes close in pleasure and he slides down to his knees in front of Peter. His hands are steady on Peter’s thighs, just holding on. Peter tries pulling on his hair again and Thomas lets out the most beautiful gasp. After that, he nuzzles Peter’s jeans covered thigh with his cheek.

He seems so content like that, that Peter runs his fingers through the brown hair over and again, nails teasing overly sensitive follicles, leaving Thomas a gasping mess breathing against his legs in a way that will give Peter a boner also the next time he just thinks of this night.

And then Thomas speaks up and what he says makes Peter’s cock twitch in joy and his knees almost give up beneath him.

“Peter, may I suck you off?”

First, he swears under his breath then he very enthusiastically consents and in under a minute his jeans are open and pulled down his thighs along with his underwear, his erection free and naked arse leaning against the back of the couch.

Thomas gives his cock a soft tug, just holding it and feeling it first. Then his mouth opens and he licks at the head few times. His tongue is wet and hot just like his breath and after few more licks he opens his mouth a little more and slips the erected penis into his mouth. Filthy slurping noises fill the room and Peter groans in pleasure. His engorged cock his heavy in Thomas’ mouth, but the man sucks on it eagerly with his eyes closed, alternately fondling Peter’s balls and giving his prick a few jerks or holding back Peter’s moving hips as he tries to thrust into the welcoming moist and heat. Peter is amazed at how Thomas is obviously enjoying fellating him; he’s never met a girl who loved sucking dicks as much as this man seems to, judging but the happy noises coming off from below his belt.

Not to be completely inconsiderate Peter moves one hand to hold onto the back of the couch, steadying himself, while the other teases Thomas’ hair some more or occasionally just stays there unmoving, following the motion as Thomas bobs his head and gets him off with his talented mouth.

It is quick and dirty and it doesn’t take him very long. It’s been ages since he was on the receiving end of this good oral sex. Peter comes into the kneeling man’s mouth with a happy groan and few involuntary thrusts of his hips. Thomas keeps his mouth open and jaw loose and just takes it, waiting to lock his gaze with Peter, before he lets Peter’s cock escape his lips. Then he audibly swallows the come and licks his lips. After that, he closes his eyes and Peter notices his right hand moving between his legs.

Thomas has his trousers open, his cock out and his hand is moving in quick jerks. He is trying to get himself off with swift economical motions. Thomas presses his cheek against Peter’s thigh and that’s all Peters needs to pull him up and attack his lips with a post-coital vigour.

“Let me...” Peter gasps and Thomas lets Peter clumsily replace his hand on his now painfully hard cock while he moans into Peter’s mouth. He tastes of semen but Peter finds that he doesn’t mind it as much as he would expect to. Thomas holds onto Peter as if he were a lifeline and Peters holds him in return, trying his best to give back some of the pleasure he was lucky to receive.

Soon, Thomas is shaking in his arms softly, muffled whines and groans slipping his lip. As Peter moves to bite at his neck Thomas cries out softly and his come stains Peter’s hand and their stomachs.

Legs turned into a jelly, they stand like that breathing heavily, letting the clock tick away the time, merely nuzzling at each other’s faces.

Thomas is the first one to compose himself. He leans over and gets what seems to be a real silk handkerchief from his jacket’s pocket and starts cleaning them. Peter just stares and breathes. They don’t speak until they pull up their pants and tuck themselves away and start looking a bit less debauched.

“You’ve never said what was the bet you lost with Trish about?” Peter tries to restart the dialogue.

“Haven’t I? Well, I saw her come in with the most gorgeous man and I told so to the bartender. Zach must have obviously told her about it, because she approached me with a bet - she guesses correctly who’s my type, or I buy her and her friends a drink. I humoured her, and her guess was faultless.”

Thomas shrugs his shoulders and takes a seat on the free couch.

Peter joins him and then his expression changes several times as his brain processes being confused, flattered, angry, embarrassed, and then tired but satisfied in short succession.

“I think it was a negligible price to pay for having met you,” Thomas adds.

Peter buries his face in the other man’s now mildly sweaty shirt and refuses to answer to that.

Instead, he simply snuggles closer.

And that is a reply enough.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an experiment I was curious to write. I also couldn’t get an image out of my head until I wrote this and after I wrote it, I thought it would be a waste to toss it, so here you’ve just had a chance to read it. No beta, just me. If you’ve finished reading this, thanks for your patience.  
> Comments and kudos are love.


End file.
